Somewhere along the wandering lines of my life, I started thinking of New Jersey as the Mothership. Born and raised in the Township of Neptune, this description seems appropriate.


Though the sand and soil on which my baby toes trod has no true name beyond what we humans (temporarily) bestow, I too am named. Jersey girl. Tristate resident, East Coast style. Yankee. American.

I leave, yet I do not. The smells, the sights, the feel are stamped upon my brain. Every new place I visit I impulsively, helplessly compare. Haven’t lived on that crabgrass patch, that blond stretch of overheated beach, that collection of crab shacks and kitsch, that mass of shopping malls, for twenty years, but nor can I abandon it. Follows me -to the Ring of Kerry, to Paris, to Boston, everywhere. The Garden State can’t stop, won’t stop, refuses to let me go. And I find I don’t want it to.


Hey, Mama Jersey –beam me up!